


lights off

by adashofblue



Category: NU'EST
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Denial of Feelings, M/M, Model! Minhyun, Photographer! Jonghyun, Slight Cursing, rushed smut, very self indulgent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 19:16:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13301466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adashofblue/pseuds/adashofblue
Summary: and honestly, Jonghyun would let Minhyun absorb all of the lights inside his soul.





	lights off

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so sorry if this feels rushed or anything  
> i just feel like i need to clear this out of my drabble dump folder and this just end up being very self-indulgent and messy
> 
> i was listening to younha's [hello](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQ03WpqlpCI) on loop as i wrote this
> 
> pls enjoy!
> 
> p.s. this fic is actually a remake of my old exo fic (now deleted on aff) and this is entirely inspired by changdictator's legendary [substandard motels](https://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/224448/substandard-motels-between-broadway-and-carnegie-hall-two-shot-angst-exo-kai-jongin-kyungsoo-kaisoo).

“It’s unfair how sometimes the light illuminates brighter on a very few people,” Nana sighs to Jonghyun, while she studies a picture— _GQ Korea, January 2018 issue_ —in her phone gallery. Nana Im is known as a one-of-a-kind model with a peculiar touch of beauty. Her traces on the runway are as alluring as her beauty, but not as dangerous as her wit. Jonghyun, being her friend ( _if_ there is such word in this menacing fashion industry) for years, only hums. He knows better than arguing with her during her deep-thoughts moments.

“I didn’t know you like to study someone else’s pictorials, Nana-san,” Jonghyun remarks in her language of choice, Japanese. _Click_ , he tries a shot with his newly fixed camera lens.

Nana chuckles, annoying the make-up artist who’s trying to blend golden dust on her rosy cheeks. “ _It’s not studying, Jonghyunnie_ —it’s more like, observing,” she points at the man on the picture to stress her point. It’s Hwang Minhyun, of course, the model of the moment, the new rising icon of the fashion industry, _the Adonis from the East, Vogue Italia said_. Clad in nothing but a simplistic Gucci coat, some indie brand’s loose woolen pants, and too-gaudy eyes, he exudes an aura that could make anyone blush.

Jonghyun hums ‘sure’ in a dismissive manner, making Nana laugh.

“You’re extremely hard to impress, you know,” she huffs, walking to the set in her 15-centimetres black Louboutin. Jonghyun is not in any way interested in answering that, of course. He’s known himself that he’s incredibly hard to impress, and he’s sure that’s the key of his success as a photographer.

If he’s easy to impress, he would never be asked to practice his arts repeatedly by Vogue franchise, he would never be given a chance to make his own exhibitions in those top-notch galleries with the hardest names in the world—in fact, he would still be struggling, taking passport photos in Gangwon-do. Plus, he knows the light isn’t that picky in giving its shine. He knows with the proper hands— _like his_ , the light will illuminate brightly on practically _anyone_.

* * *

However, a year later in London, in the middle of a photoshoot, Jonghyun thinks he has to reconsider Nana’s words. A lean man covered in a shabby linen shirt stands between two young, lovely women in a colorful mix of Hanbok and Versace scarves—simply absorbing the gleam that emits from the lights, alluding anything that rival his. The shimmering rays seem to love his pale skin, reflecting on its smooth surface like raw diamonds. And if it’s not amusement, he doesn’t know how to explain the feeling.

“Well, isn’t it a sight to see?” A tap on his shoulder and Jonghyun finds Choi Minki, make-up guru and probably W Korea’s favorite beauty muse, smiling all too warmly. “People say it’s gonna be tough working with him today,” he muses, watching the models working in front of Aron Kwak—Jonghyun and Minki’s college roommate, another talented photographer. “And it’s so true. It’s hard to make someone less mesmerizing when you’re doing Minhyun’s make-up. At this rate, he’s going to make Kate and Liu look like his _maids_ on the cover later,” he laughs.

* * *

Jonghyun promised himself to not be shocked, but when a toothpick-boned hand extends to meet his hand at the after-shoot dinner, he’s still shocked that the lights are indeed unfair—at least in Minhyun’s case. “Hello, I’m Minhyun. You’re Aaron-hyung and Minki’s friend, right?” he says in a warm, faintly accented Korean. Jonghyun nods.

“I’m Jonghyun, Kim Jonghyun,” he whispers, almost sounding breathy.

“Oh! You’re Kim Jonghyun the photographer, right? I’ve been looking forward to work with you,” Minhyun says excitedly. Jonghyun nods, sipping his green tea awkwardly.

“How did you do that?” Jonghyun blurts suddenly. He immediately thinks about his career—does unprofessional misconduct to a model before any actual job matter?

Minhyun chuckles, eyes heartfelt and easy. “You mean, that?” his thin finger taps on a printed photo of himself on the table today. Minki sure predicted well. The two models beside him almost look like accessories of _his_ photoshoot.

He downs his glass of soju and beams a slow, lazy smile. “Lights,” he says, picking his chopstick and putting some meat to Jonghyun’s plate.

“But light is supposed to be fair,” Jonghyun wonders, watching Aron and Minki silently talking like two teenagers in love in the corner of this hole-in-the-wall Korean BBQ restaurant.

Jonghyun swears Minhyun’s eyes were twinkling. “Light is fair, sure thing. But, oh, don’t judge me, I read this from a science magazine—light can be easily trapped by black holes. Under heavy gravitational forces, light will curve. And that’s what good models do, you know. We became black holes. We trap lights and well, we practically make everything gravitate around us,” He smiles lazily, crinkling his eyes like everything he said is supposed to made sense. While slowly chewing _hanwoo_ meat, Jonghyun ponders if Minhyun’s smile is only a reflection of a treacherous faultlessness.

_Easy banters and trivial questions are exchanged, and Jonghyun tries his hardest to forget an expanse of white skin and dazzling brown eyes that night._

* * *

“We know you’ve read our emails and all, but to make sure, we want something that comes from a mix of old-school Romeo and Juliet and the modern rendition of it.” The lady sighs. “I, uh, I mean all of us in Vogue Korea wants this issue to be very specific but mainstream at the same time. We want it to look like a perfect yet brokenly beautiful scene—involves a lot of light manipulation. Serene, of course, that’s why the color pattern is pastel-inspired, it’s somewhat like a mix of unadulterated love story and Disney chick flick,” the fashion director, a woman in his 30s with a penchant for overpriced tulles explains.

Jonghyun never listens, though—all he needs to do is entertaining their request and eventually doing whatever he fucking wants all the time. He doesn’t understand, anyways. Fashion is all manipulative gestures in all its monochrome simplicities and multicolored complexities—and no one, he’s sure _no one_ has truly understand the gist of it.

But he might understand the personification of _perfect and brokenly beautiful_ when Minhyun stands in front of his camera, eyes hazy and cheeks gaunt. Dressed in a horrendous mix of something only G-Dragon would wear and ash grey locks, he looks like a perfect black hole. And honestly, Jonghyun would let him absorb all of the lights inside his soul.

“Jonghyunnie?”

Sheepish eyes dilate at the nickname, and one thing Jonghyun learns that evening: Minhyun never calls anyone with honorifics or endearment (and people let it go anyway, they say it’s normal because Minhyun lived in Paris for a long time). And he doesn’t know if he should be flattered or terrified.

“Hello, Minhyun,” Jonghyun gives him a curt nod. Lee Sungkyung who will be Minhyun’s Juliet in the shoot greets Jonghyun in a rush, averting his attention from Minhyun. He sends a signal to his set assistant Guanlin and just like that, a moment of unfamiliar fondness in Jonghyun’s chest is dismissed.

The rain falls as the soft patter on the window of Jonghyun’s studio. Winter is going to come soon and Jonghyun always easily forgets how Seoul looks like in winter. The names of the city blur round-trip after round-trip. At the end of the day in his secluded overly priced apartment, he doesn’t even remember where he started all this mess called fame and recognition.

Jonghyun tries to familiarize himself with the smell of petrichor coming from the slightly opened window until he feels a reluctant tap on his shoulder.

“Do you have an umbrella, Jonghyunnie?” Hwang Minhyun stands before him, dressed down in a grey sweater and tattered black jeans (but still, he exudes perfection and absorbs adoration).

“You’re not going home with your manager?” Jonghyun’s hands subconsciously put down his camera on the table. His studio is empty now, and the lights in the room are all turned off, except the one above his head. He always likes to work in the dark, accompanied by his americano and the dim lights from his laptop.

“No, Jisung said his wife needs him at the hospital—she’d be gone through labor soon. And um, my apartment’s really close from here. You know, the white one with Starbucks?”

Jonghyun fiddles with his phone. Minhyun lives in his apartment tower and he’s not sure whether to disclose this fact— _too soon? Too eager?_

“Uh. Well, I’d love to have a cup of warm coffee, too. You can go with me, I have an umbrella,” he says eventually.

“Oh, really? That’s great,” the smile from London comes back and Jonghyun shivers inwardly. Minhyun’s too mysterious for his liking, yet something keeps urging him to wonder; to wander around Minhyun’s dizzying gravity.

Jonghyun pulls out a black umbrella from the closet near the door, and he unsurely hands it to Minhyun. “You’re taller than me. You should hold it,”

Minhyun grins, all too tenderly. “Sure,”

When they stop in front of Starbucks, the rain almost stops. The only thing that stays is the droplets of clouds’ tear slowly seeping into the soil. There’s a certain tension oozing from the melancholy of this block of Gangnam—a certain tension that’s close from romance, but not really.

“You know what, instead of some pompous red cup from Starbucks, I can offer you a cup of instant coffee and cold donuts,” Minhyun whispers, almost sounding shy (but Jonghyun doesn’t need to care about its implications).

“Sure,” Jonghyun says, slightly agitated by how this whole thing is going. Minhyun is supposed to be just a name flashing white in his career—a cup of coffee (and the promise of _donuts_ ) sounds too intimate.

The elevator ride promises a cup of regrets and hushed whimpers, with Minhyun looking at him like he means something, like this is going to be luxurious for his craving soul, and Jonghyun’s scared that he’ll hope for something more than misty eyes and cold handshakes when the day ends.

“Jonghyun,” Jonghyun’s eyes snap open, not because of the ding of elevator indicating they’ve reached 25th floor. “Yes, Minhyun?”

Minhyun walks into his apartment— _of course this whole floor is his,_ his brain hisses _._ He opens his coat almost too slowly, almost too breathtaking, and Jonghyun wonders, wonders, wonders—

Minhyun lands his cold palm on Jonghyun’s cheek. “Stop wondering,” he said, broken whimpers dancing over the ghost of lips on Jonghyun’s throat. Minhyun noses his throat in a way that makes Jonghyun blush, like Jonghyun’s scent is his lifeline.

The pitter-patter of the rain hums in the background when Minhyun kisses him, his fingers being anchors on his silky hair. The chill of early winter mixed with Minhyun’s reluctant grasp on his waist is cold, cold, cold, but Jonghyun learns the warmth of his touches burns hot in his core.

“Minhyun,” he breathes, logic becomes nonsense and anxiety kicks in.

“Minhyun,” eyes glassy and lips slightly swollen, Minhyun looks ethereal.

“What,” Jonghyun’s fingers find its way to Minhyun’s shirt, unsure. Minhyun taps his fingers on the crevice of Jonghyun’s clavicle. The dark-haired photographer closes his eyes, trying to remember the feeling, for he knows everything invading his senses at the moment is temporary, fleeting—easily forgotten by the man in front of him.

Minhyun chuckles, a bit too hollow and broken for Jonghyun to understand.

“You probably already concluded I don’t have instant coffees, huh,”

Jongyun opens his eyes. Minhyun takes Jonghyun’s slowly blinking eyes as a yes—he kisses him hard, sloppy and slow, and Jonghyun wonders if it’s even possible for this kind of bad kisses to be somewhat memorable. 

One second and Minhyun’s hands roam all over the expanse of Jonghyun’s golden skin. Jonghyun groans because it’s been too long for him, too long from any attachment to his broken soul. The next second Minhyun fiddles with his Gucci belt, sweats rolling down his grey hair. Confident eyes lock in his lips as Minhyun kisses him with fervor, pushing him into one of the rooms.

His rugged Dsquared2 jeans is pulled down and the rough fabric gives him extra sensation as Minhyun pinches his thighs, leaving small crescent marks. “So pretty,” Minhyun murmurs, pushing Jonghyun lightly to the bed. Jonghyun whimpers, watching Minhyun stripping in front of him. His boxer is entirely black, his bulge stretching the cloth fully. Jonghyun moans even more when Minhhyun smirks, his left hand grasping his own clothed dick to tease. Minhyun’s shirt is rumpled from his grasps earlier, hair tousled artfully and the image is too hard to bear for him. Jonghyun can feel his arousal growing, straining his boxer uncomfortably.

Minhyun gasps as Jonghyun expertly circles his legs to his bare torso as he hits the bed, Jonghyun’s slightly wet boxer touching his abs.

“Patience,” Minhyun warns, right hand reaching for the condom on the nightstand. He skillfully opens the wrapper with his teeth as his hands roam freely on Jonghyun’s chest.

“Fucking hurry,” Jonghyun grits, grinding his hips on his lover of the night’s waist.

Minhyun chuckles, rolling the condom slowly. “There’s no rush, right?” his hand sneakily grabs Jonghyun’s bare ass, kneading a little. Jonghyun’s back arches, fingers pulling the threads on Minhyun’s expensive sweater.

“This goes off first,” Jonghyun grits. Minhyun takes off his sweater, pulling Jonghyun’s hand to his chest. His lips are scalding hot as he whispers, “You can mark me tonight,”

Jonghyun’s nail intentionally grazes Minhyun’s nipples, annoyed of his antics. Minhyun kisses him like _he means it,_ and when he sucks a sensitive area underneath his right ear, Jonghyun moans. _Minhyun surely will leave mark,_ Jonghyun thinks.

Jonghyun whines as Minhyun roughly yanks his boxer down with his mouth simultaneously. His cock springs free, red and leaking. Minhyun gives the head a lick, humming after tasting a drop of his pre-cum.

 

Minhyun quickly pushes the tip of his middle finger to Jonghyun’s rim, crooking his finger a little when the hole finally adjusts. Jonghyun hisses and Minhyun kisses all the sounds. Jonghyun feels his smile as he touches a small bundle of nerves very near to his prostate, making Jonghyun scream. Their fingers are interlocked and Jonghyun feels his soul burns as he hugs Minhyun in a desperate attempt for more fraction.

 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he hisses in ecstasy as Minhyun picks up the pace of his finger after adding another finger.

“Let me make you feel good, yeah?” Minhyun whispers again, his lips pecking Jonghyun’s cheek and neck.

 

Jonghyun is always vulnerable during sex—his heart bleeds more than necessary and once again, he fell into Minhyun’s gravity. Minhyun kisses him again, this time with so much passion (his mind _thinks this could mean something, this could not mean anything_ at a rapid speed) and Jonghyun groans as Minhyun’s fingers gently massages his prostate.

 

Minhyun pulls his fingers out and quickly kisses him south—his chest are now colored pink and red. His lips hover on his dick and Jonghyun almost loses it when Minhyun’s heavy-lidded eyes glance up at him in a sultry manner. His fingers soothes his stomach as he licks his rims expertly, tip of tongue bringing heat to his insides.

 

Minhyun’s mouth engulfs his cock in a swift manner and Jonghyun’s voice cracks when he curses—the sensation of Minhyun’s pretty mouth around his dick and his expert tongue licking his precome dry gives him whiplash. He can feel it coming, he knows he’s about to cum soon.

 

Jonghyun harshly breathes as Minhyun circles his thumb index and thumb around the base of his leaking cock, giving torturing pleasure that makes him curls his toes. “Let me properly fuck you first, baby,” Minhyun kisses his ears and Jonghyun almost cries.

 

Minhyun’s fingers find way into his hair and they’re suddenly battling for dominance, legs tangled and tongue playfully dancing. Jonghyun bucks his hips in a desperate effort to gain friction.

 

“Fuck my brains out, Hwang Minhyun,” Jonghyun pushes his dick to Minhyun’s lower belly, the press making him rolls his eyes. Minhyun groans at his words, covered cock pulsing in excitement. Minhyun takes some lube that’s already prepared and swiftly prepares himself.

 

Jonghyun gasps as the tip of Minhyun’s dick pushes his rim, eyes closed in pure bliss. Minhyun kisses him languidly as his dick goes deeper, garbled encouragements falling out from his mouth. Jonghyun pulls his thighs to his chest as Minhyun pulls out and drives all the way in.

“Yes, yes,” Jonghyun whimpers, desperate. Sweat rolls down on Minhyun’s fringe, hindering his sight. Minhyun shakes his head, splashing some sweat on Jonghyun’s chest. The pace Minhyun set is quick and rough, the tip of his hardened cock almost missing the hole in its rushed movement.

“Oh God, ah, more, Minhyun, ah,” Jonghyun moans and curses when he opens his eyes—Minhyun looks at him hungrily, smiling at the thought that he made Jonghyun like this, begging for his cock.

Minhyun suddenly grabs Jonghyun’s unattended cock, tongue licking the sweat on his lips. With the rough pace and sudden touch, Jonghyun immediately sees white.

 

Minhyun chases his orgasm as Jonghyun’s cock strains, painting white on his abdomen. Jonghyun can feel the warmth of Minhyun’s come as Minhyun screams, face lost in ecstasy as Jonghyun holds him close.

 

As Jonghyun goes down from his high, slightly disoriented, he feels a peck on his temple, followed by a loss of warmth on his hole. Minhyun comes back a minute later with a warm wet cloth, cleaning the mess on his body.

Jonghyun feels lightheaded and sated as he’s being spooned from the back, body battling tiredness and eventually crawling into a state of unconsciousness.

And Jonghyun concludes _it is_ memorable; at least after strings of half-hearted curses and muffled whimpers, low groans and high moans, tight grasp and loose hugs. He doesn’t know how to differentiate good and bad fucks because he’s always nearly half-drunk doing it in the past and love is a privilege for someone as shattered and scarred like him; but when he lays beside Minhyun in his pretentious bed inside his pretentious bedroom, he decided it’s better to not care because—well, this is Hwang Minhyun, and he knows better to not extend his stay.

* * *

And he was never meant to stay anyway. Not in Milan, Tokyo, Busan, or even inside Changi airport’s toilet in his temporary lover’s firm grip and heated kisses. Minhyun’s arms are, always are, never meant for Jonghyun to stay.

_(“You’re not stalking me, aren’t you, Jonghyunnie? Why do we keep bumping on each other?”_

_“Oh gosh, just shut up and kiss me,”)_

* * *

Minki’s creations are as grand as his personality. The best thing about him is that no matter how grand his arts are already, he never stops improving; he never gets enough of what he can do. So when he drops his blending brushes and sighs, Jonghyun knows he’s having a hard time reaching that standard he set for himself—and Jonghyun has to deal with his hissy fits and rants of wrongly blended ombres and lips being too Kardashian.

“What’s wrong?” Jonghyun puts his camera in his black Gucci backpack—a gift from Minki two seasons ago. He doesn’t even know why he’s here today, taking pictures of human hangers being put to work. Dealing with obsessive-compulsive designers and frantic face painters backstage is definitely not his favorite thing to do, but New York always sounds like a good idea for him.

“I honestly tried to do his face a bit differently, but you know what they say, you can’t really ruin something that’s perfect,” his fingers taps on the small screen relaying the runway happening downstairs.

“There’s no such thing as perfection, Minki. You and I know that,”

Minki laughs, eyes twinkling and slightly evil, “you and I also know that he’s an exception,” he says, steps light and easy as he returns to his work, nasty pinks and tur- _fucking_ -qoise greens on his dainty fingers. His eyes stare at Jonghyun, like he knows what’s troubling his mind, and he knows why, or _who_ , ignites the chaos inside his little head.

Minhyun, strutting in geometrical leather vest, puffy cotton pants in all the wrong shades of perfection, is Jonghyun’s small definition of aesthetic chaos. Minhyun looks like he’s part of the runway set, all messed up and meant to be soullessly perfect, like throngs of colored fabrics and layers of metals mixed by great suffering and neurotic minds. 

_—like he was never meant to be cherished, like he was not meant for an avalanche of anxiety and struggles of self-love like Jonghyun, like he was never meant for love and devotion Jonghyun painfully formed for him._

* * *

New York is cold and warm at the same time—unkind drizzle barreling through the mighty skyscrapers, warmth exuding from smiley faces serving bagels and coffee for Wall Street zombies. Jonghyun always gets his taste of americano and sesame bagels by himself every morning he spends in New York. This morning, he learns that some habits are meant to be broken.

He swears Minhyun brings an avalanche of feelings every time his brown eyes meet his.

“Jonghyun,” Minhyun’s voice sounds unsure and happy and once again, Jonghyun doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be terrified or glad. Morning joggers and polished ladies in dress pants stare at him with slight amusement of the language, and the beautiful man speaking it.

“Minhyun,” sharp exhale followed by heartwarming smile shudders Jonghyun’s heart, and if it’s really a sign of almost-love, he should worry for himself because—Minhyun is a black hole, Minhyun draws everyone’s soul, Minhyun’s a danger.

“Jonghyun, are you okay?” Minhyun slips his worry in his old hometown’s language, and Jonghyun thinks nothing’s fucking sexier than Hwang Minhyun worrying about him in rapid and slightly incomprehensible French. Minhyun puts his hands on his forearms, eyes glinting with worry— _and is this almost-love?_

“I’m okay,” he says in English. He knows his French, alright, his past one-night stands with lanky and beautiful French men teach him _things_ , but he’s too stunned to use them.

“You were slightly hyperventilating,” Minhyun puts his hands back to his pockets and sighs.

“Ah, I’m just surprised,”

“Surprised to see me? Wow, that’s actually pretty unexpected,” Minhyun grins boyishly, and all Jonghyun remembers is his name flowing out of those pretty mouth weeks ago. “Um,”

“Jonghyun, why did you leave early?” Minhyun asks when Jonghyun walks into the coffee shop—not Starbucks, thankfully. Jonghyun thinks of fleeting glances and serene smile on Minhyun’s face when he sleeps, Jonghyun thinks of wanting to stay and—

“Uh, work emergency. I’m sorry, Minhyun,” he lies, because Minhyun, doesn’t deserve truths. Right. _He’s just a perfect human hanger who has no ability to cherish feeling—_

Minhyun chuckles. “Ah, don’t worry, I understand. You’re the photographer that everyone loves anyway,”

_(no, everyone loves you, Minhyun,)_

“Then I think I should treat you another cup of coffee, and, um, bagels, right? Since you missed it last time,” Minhyun offers with an eager smile.

Despite his internal turmoil, Jonghyun says yes. Because, _he thought_ , this is Minhyun. Everyone is supposed to love hanging out with Hwang Minhyun.

* * *

“I don’t sleep with random photographers, or models. Or designers or editors, in that case,” Minhyun says, looking at Jonghyun like he’s giving a piece of his heart. Jonghyun almost chokes on his sesame bagels

( _Minhyun, how did you know what I like?_

 _I kind of studied psychology by myself, you know—I concluded it after looking at your drool in front of the bagel section,_ he smiled lazily _)._

Minhyun’s reading him like a book, and it hurts to say his heart wavered. “Why are you saying that to me?” Jonghyun’s mind flashes headlines of tabloids and magazines— _Minhyun walks out from bar with Gucci Korea’s muse Eunwoo Cha, Minhyun meets K-Pop singer Doyeon in London—_

“Because,” he breathes, “You act like I’m… just Hwang Minhyun,”

“But you _are_ Minhyun,” Jonghyun chuckles.

“That Minhyun is perfect. I’m not,” he whispers.

Jonghyun grips his coffee cup. “But why does it matter? Everyone loves Minhyun, right? Everyone adores every inch of your goddamn skin and you don’t need me, because everyone loves you, and you don’t need me to complete your circle of perfection. You’re already perfect, Hwang Minhyun, why would you need me to complete your perfect puzzle?”

Minhyun sighs, brown eyes hiding truths. “Because I thought you can treat me differently, like I’m not just some transparent bile and golden bronzer with flashy face,”

_Minhyun’s running away in high speed,_

_and all he does was staring._

_Minhyun ran away,_

_and he might just ruined his chance at happiness._

* * *

“You’re an idiot,” Minki says over Skype, after an hour-long session about how Hwang-freaking-Minhyun is pining over him.

“That might be an understatement,” Jonghyun sighs. He bites his nails and Minki rants again about how nasty his habit is.

“Listen, you self-hating moron,”

“That’s fucking rude,” Jonghyun snorts. Aron pops behind Minki on his beat-up Macbook screen. “You guys are so mean to each other,” he pats Minki’s shoulder and Minki seems to quickly calm down. _Lovebirds_ , Jonghyun sighs.

“Jonghyun, listen to me,”

“That Hwang Minhyun you see on magazines might look like he’s this perfect glass doll incapable of love, but what if he’s only _Minhyun_ behind all that jazz and he’s actually saying the truth?”

 _The truth_ , Jonghyun thinks,

_Is that he knows Minhyun always said the truth._

_And maybe, just maybe,_

_It’s really an almost-love flowing from his eyes, glassy and shining crossing his cheeks._

* * *

New York is always warm and cold at the same time—people buzzing with a cup of liquid caffeine in hand, skyscrapers overlooking the rush that never seems to dissipate on the sidewalk. Jonghyun sips his morning dose of americano once again.

Gripping a small piece of paper in his hand, he walks, walks, walks, carefully making his way among sea of people.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

It’s the same pearl-colored skin and tousled hair—

The only difference is Jonghyun can see that the light’s off for both of them, there’s no need to hide behind the flash, there’s no need to be anyone else in front of the flash.

“Hwang Minhyun, right?” he says in perfect Korean.

Minhyun smiles brightly, answering in his accented Korean. “Yes. And you are?”

“Kim Jonghyun. I’m from Seoul,”

Minhyun’s grip is utterly cold, but Jonghyun knows it can easily melt anything he has.

“Hi, Jonghyun. I’m Minhyun. I usually say I’m from Paris, but Seoul’s okay too,”

 

_And maybe,_

_Just maybe,_

_Twin smiles underneath the serene winter light are enough to ignite that almost-love into something else._

**fin.**

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry for any mistake (especially grammar mistakes since english's not my first language and this is entirely unbeta-ed and made in 2 hours)
> 
> my other fic, [the aftermath](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12725313) is currently being edited and will not be updated until i finish it. i'm really sorry for that... i won't be able to post regularly for the next months to deal with real life but i'm planning to finish 2 wips and release it soon.
> 
> you can talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/adashofblue) or on my cc [here](https://curiouscat.me/adashofblue)!


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